


Kankri: seek assistance in reevaluating your paradigm.

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Flushed Leanings, M/M, Nervousness, Non-Penetrative Sex, Sexual exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:44:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sits back, deliberately putting distance between you despite the part of your brain that wishes he wouldn't. "Okay. Freakout over? Good. Now how about some small words and short sentences to work out exactly what the fuck is wrong with you."</p>
<p>You sniffle. "Yes. Good. Opening a constructive dialogue in order to put the oppressive apparatus into language so it can be engaged—"</p>
<p>"Less theory, more practice," Karkat says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kankri: seek assistance in reevaluating your paradigm.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThePioden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePioden/gifts).



> This came from a quick "pairing and kink" prompt on tumblr; please forgive the fact that there isn't much in the way of setup or explanation for their circumstances. XD

It was so much easier to be celibate when you were dead. Now your body has all of these urges again, half of which make you ashamed of yourself while the other half make you want to cry. When the feelings overwhelm you, you find yourself seeking out Karkat, and you tell yourself that you just want reassurance but then you see the shock on his face and you know you were wrong. You're trembling. You don't know what to do with yourself.

"What the fuck," Karkat says, and while you were expecting unmitigated contempt from him—he really needs to work on cultivating his sense of community and respect for others with differing lifestyles from his own—you think that you can hear something else in his tone, too. "What the fuck, you miserable bulgebite."

You sniffle and only barely manage not to sob. "I don't know what's _happening_ to me," you tell him, which isn't quite right and you try to explain yourself: you do know in a basic physical sense what's happening, what instincts your body wants to satisfy, but you don't know why you can't make it stop, you don't know why it has to happen without your permission, and you hate being so out of control.

Karkat wipes the tears and snot off your face and says things like, "You are such a terrible excuse for a troll. I thought I was bad, but look at you." But he says them so softly, and his touch is gentle, and in your attempt to be patient and tolerant of other cultures you suppose perhaps that does count as kindness for an Alternian.

And when you've gotten the tears under control at last he sits back, deliberately putting distance between you despite the part of your brain that wishes he wouldn't. "Okay. Freakout over? Good. Now how about some small words and short sentences to work out exactly what the fuck is wrong with you."

You sniffle. "Yes. Good. Opening a constructive dialogue in order to put the oppressive apparatus into language so it can be engaged—"

"Less theory, more practice," Karkat says.

It takes you a few more tries before you can be as direct as he wants you to be, before you can stammer out the words. When you do it's all in one breath, before you can lose your nerve. "I'm feeling concupiscent urges and I don't know how to stop them but I don't want anyone inside me _ever_."

"Fuck," Karkat says, "stop crying," his tone more of a plea than a demand. He wraps his arms around you, which you never would have expected from him. He pets your hair. You want him to never stop. You want to stop wanting anything. "Are you seriously telling me that Beforans only ever had bulge-in-nook sex?"

You try to bristle, which is made difficult by his arms around you. "I was not in the habit of cataloguing other trolls' perversities, not only because I had no interest in such prurient matters but because to inquire into them could easily delve into the realm of shaming practices in which—"

Karkat puts his fingers to your mouth. You stop talking and your breath hitches. "You don't know," he says and you think (you hope) that what you're hearing in his voice is a kind of horrified compassion. "The only thing you've ever heard of is default-grubcream-flavor and you don't want that, and you're freaking out assuming it's the only option on the table."

You look up at him hopefully. "It isn't?"

He squeezes his eyes shut and grimaces. "I would really fucking appreciate it if you could try to limit the incidence of kicked-barkbeast faces you make during this conversation, because I know Beforans are about as romantically competent as humans so there's no fucking way you're doing it on purpose, but hint: if you ever wanted to try to seduce an Alternian for a flushed hookup, that expression—"

You kiss him. Badly. You know you're doing a terrible job of it, you're still snotty and awkward and the angle is nearly impossible but you can't help yourself. Your...urges are telling you to seek out someone you can trust, and Karkat falls into that category and he's there and he just made it sound like he wouldn't have to put anything _in_ you.

"Horrorterrors," Karkat mumbles against your mouth, "fuck my life," and then he kisses you back. He's much better at it, as far as you can tell. His thumbs trace your cheekbones like he's still wiping away your tears, and that gesture just makes you feel so warm inside—behind your ribs and also lower, down between your legs, where—oh, you're shaking. "Fuck me," Karkat says (not, you think, a demand), "how do you go from so obnoxious to so pitiable?"

You swallow hard. "Does that mean...?" You've never been so lost for words.

Karkat looks at you, a reflection of your own lost face. "Let me just—lock the door," he says.

You let go for that long. He comes back and kisses you more and you start to get the hang of it, and when his hand slides up under your sweater a small part of you thinks _too fast_ but most of you thinks _oh thank god at last_. You still feel out of control and you can't make yourself quit shaking, but the more you shiver the more tender his touch gets until you're desperate for more, for relief, for _something_ more than this.

You're babbling, trying to get the words out, talking in circles around what you really want, telling Karkat about vulnerability and the dynamics of power and resistance while you tug at his shirt, and the first time he licks one of your grubscars your voice curls up in your throat and dies.

He smirks up at you, cocky and just slightly arrogant, and does it again. You tangle your fingers in his hair and hold on, like the source of the disruption in your paradigm could also be the anchor around which you organize a new one. Your body is thrumming with warmth, gathering at the base of your spine, making your bulge swell and stir.

You still lock up in panic when Karkat reaches for your belt. He stops. "I'm not going for your nook," he says. "You don't even have to take them all the way off if you want."

"I think that might be best," you say shakily. You're ashamed of yourself for needing that much careful handling and then angry at the conditioning that makes you feel shame.

Karkat just nods, though, and unzips both of you. You glance down at his bulge and it's the first time you've ever really looked at another troll's bulge; you have never approved of pornography. Karkat looks so much like you it still doesn't really feel like you're looking at someone else.

He doesn't take his pants off either, and you hadn't thought that far but you're relieved. The idea of penetrating him is less horrifying than having it done to you, but it still makes you flinch when you consider it closely. You stretch out beside him on the couch and he kisses you again, which you'd already decided you liked; he presses his body full-length against yours. It should be a perfect match, when you're genetically identical, but he feels dense and taut and strange against you, solid with the muscle demanded by imperialism. God, you're fetishizing the effects of his oppression; you'll have to examine your motives at length and compose a proper apology.

Not now, though. His bulge is moving, shifting against yours in a way that makes thoughtful analysis nearly impossible. You rock your hips forward once and your bulges twine around each other. He squeezes you rhythmically and you whine into his mouth as pleasure washes through your nerves. You try to reciprocate, and you feel clumsy, awkward, unpracticed at making these muscles cooperate. But Karkat growls into your mouth in a way that makes you shiver all down your spine, so maybe your very incompetence is appealing to him.

Arousal is still terrifying, but you cling to Karkat and you think you can stand it. Your bulges curl and pull against each other, and you find your thighs flexing as you strain toward greater sensation. Karkat is pushing against you the same way, and for once you're not panicking at being wanted—you're driven onward by it, reaching, craving, riding these thrumming waves of sensation that simply won't _stop_.

Then Karkat...peaks, you suppose, all of his tension snapping at once in a series of violent shudders that make him cling to you so tightly you might bruise. He's panting for breath at the end of them, his face buried in the hollow of your shoulder.

"Oh," you say, very softly. You're trembling yourself, both your body and your emotions a mess of feelings you can't begin to safely contextualize.

You can hear Karkat struggling to get his breathing under control. You think, _he's feeling that overwhelmed because of me_. "Sorry," he says after a minute, "totally let that get away from me. You, uh, want more?"

You're shaking your head before you've even thought about it. "I-I think this is plenty of new information to assimilate for now," you say.

"Fuck, listen to you, you're still such a mess," Karkat says, and hugs you again. "Do me a favor and go back to being a stuck-up jerk so I can stop having feelings for you."

You sniff. "The damage your diseased culture did to your capacity for healthy affection is hardly my fault," you point out.

"There you go, that's a good start," Karkat says. He's smiling, though. Is he teasing you? There's still so much you don't understand about him.

Words have always been your shield, but they fail you now; you don't know where to begin. You hide your face in your double's hair, trembling with the newness of everything, the strangeness of changing your mind about yourself. He holds you, and waits for you to find your peace, soft and steady as the beat of your blood.


End file.
